


Haikyuu: Rare Pair Long One-Shots

by MeikoAtsushi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rare Pairings, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeikoAtsushi/pseuds/MeikoAtsushi
Summary: As the title says: this a collection of long one-shots about Haikyuu's rarest pairings.Feel free to request your favorite rare pair!1. Tsukishima Kei x Kunimi Akira (Of Starry Nights and Mysteries)





	Haikyuu: Rare Pair Long One-Shots

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is my first time attempting a collection. Details for requests are at the end of the story!

_“Let’s break up.”_

An acrid tang coated the inside of his cheeks, as Kunimi Akira stood dully amongst the cheering crowd of people as if his time was put at an abrupt pause; as if he was breathing in a disparate dimension. His hands gradually detached from his sides, as he clapped once, twice – rhythmically, with no emotion.

 

It was truly, a beautiful sight.

 

His two former upperclassmen – a pair that he very much respected, although never expressed that adoration – was rowdily marching down the red carpet, crinkling the edges of the cloth as they intertwined their steps, stomping on one another’s feet in a furious, yet oddly endearing motion. Oikawa’s flaunty grin was replaced with a crumbled, blushed smile, and Iwaizumi’s sharp teeth were flashing under the chandelier jewels, his lips pointing upward although his eyes were frowning at his boyfriend, now his husband.

 

Their radiant happiness was blinding.

 

It was beautiful, yet extraneous.

 

For Kunimi Akira, there couldn’t be a story more irrelevant to his life than this one.

 

“ _Kunimi-chan,_ don’t you think it’s just _ridiculous_ that this idiot messed up the order of my favorite cake on our _wedding day_? I said I wanted _electric blue_ icing with E.T. on the top layer –“

 

“Electric blue and indigo are close enough, Shittykawa, stop complaining.”

 

“You just don’t get it, Iwa-chan, this is a matter of devotion –“

 

Kunimi pursed his lips together, his eyebrows not moving a single inch as he spoke, “Does it really matter?”

 

Oikawa slapped his chest dramatically as if he had been shot, and Iwaizumi pulled him along the carpet, rolling his eyes.

 

Kunimi observed.

 

He scrutinized the angle of Oikawa’s beam, the miniscule tint of pink Iwaizumi possessed at the corner of his eyes, the shine in their respective chocolate and sea green orbs, the occasional scrunching of the nose as they made faces at one another, but still somehow managing to communicate the message ‘I love you’ so clearly, that someone had to be senseless to not understand.

 

_“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Akira.”_

That was _expression._

 

Sipping the new glass of champagne from the assortment of beverages, cheeses, and cold cuts, Kunimi processed dryly. Even now, amongst this exuberant crowd, too energetic for his comfort, he exerted the importance of personal space, and dispassion. By all means, he was attending this wedding out of cordial piety towards his former upperclassmen, not especially because he was “happy for them” or “to commemorate the event”. It was an act of socialization, a common essentiality.

 

His apathetic gaze rested on an old teammate from the past, as Kageyama Tobio approached him. He roughly snatched the jug of orange juice and a paper cup, some of its contents spilling as he swerved it to the side. His mouth formed an unpleasant shape, about to holler something inappropriate at an equally orange male a few meters away – until he turned to see Kunimi.

 

 _What a pain._ Akira clucked his tongue mentally, swallowing the fizzy liquid.

 

“Hey.” Kageyama passed on a nod, in which Kunimi passively returned. “How are you- _Hinata, shut the fuck up-_ uh, doing?” The paper cup crumpled in his tightened hold. Even after all these years, after Seijoh’s final defeat to Karasuno for the third time in Akira’s high school career, after their silent farewell at Akira’s last game ever, Kageyama hadn’t changed. Physically, he had gotten taller by a few noticeable centimeters, his hair shorter but still quite flat on his head, his voice quite deep and features sharpened – but overall, just the same.

 

“I’m doing fine.” If he were in high school, he would’ve responded with a sardonic bite. But after certain stages in his life, Kunimi no longer found such behavior to be necessary when not called for. “You?”

 

Kageyama had nearly allowed the question to slip as he barked back a loud “ _HINATA YOU FUCKING IDIOT”_ the moment it was asked. But he quickly twisted his attention back to the other, “Okay, I guess. Aren’t you supposed to be with Kindaichi?”

 

The name placed an unsettling sensation within his stomach. His heartbeat seemed to slow with unknown despondency and clouded his vision with an eerie darkness. He bit his tongue between his canine teeth, and irritation stung at his lips. “What makes you say that?” He drew in a shaky breath, the champagne glass in his grip trembling slightly, just very slightly. His face didn’t display particular concern, but his usual stoicism.

 

“Since you guys were usually together, I guess?” Kageyama shrugged nonchalantly, trying to unfold the creases of the cup. Kunimi was about to retort but refrained from doing so. There was no necessity for a clarification – by providing one, Kageyama wouldn’t be much affected compared to when not given one. Therefore, to explain was a waste of energy and time. After pouring a substantial amount of juice, Kageyama put the jug back on the tray, the plastic surface rattling at the force. “See you, Kunimi.”

 

Kunimi did not mention his farewells. Instead, he went back to clearing the remnants of his drink.

 

When he completed his task, he roamed through the field – Oikawa seemed to have romanticized about his “ideal” wedding, which was ceremoniously held at their high school, where apparently, Iwaizumi had confessed and experienced their first kiss. It was indeed, sickeningly sweet, and perhaps even dreamy. But once again, the whole circumstance itself felt like one out of a fairytale to Akira – foreign to his life.

 

“Hey, Kunimi!”

 

His tracks were put to an abrupt rest as someone’s large hand grabbed his left shoulder, causing him to twirl on his heels and stand the opposite direction to where he was headed. His eyes first laid on pink bubblegum hair, and then a lazy but delighted face – a living oxymoron. “Hanamaki-san.” He pronounced, adding new honorifics to the title. “And Matsukawa-san.” The other individual with unusually august eyebrows smirked, with a chic tilt of the hand that was supposed to be a wave of some sort. “Do you need something?”

 

Hanamaki released an exasperated sigh as if he was asked the most incredulous question ever. “Issei, I told you this was a bad idea. This child of ours is still as ungrateful as ever.”

 

“It’s all about patience, Hiro. Kunimi will understand our love someday.”

 

“I don’t remember having homosexual parents.” Stated Akira blandly, “Or sexually deprived ones that jack off in the locker rooms.”

 

“That was fucking _seven_ years ago, you piece of shit.” Pointing an accusatory finger at Kunimi, Hanamaki pranced on the grass. “We were hormonal teenagers, we jacked off in locker rooms screaming names, and thought sex involving jump ropes were hot and kinky. And you just so happened to _barge_ into all our horny sessions.”

 

“Unwillingly. You should be glad that I didn’t blackmail you with illicit photographs.” Of course, he didn’t have any pornographically depicted images of his upperclassmen humping each other (anymore), but it was true he had stumbled upon the two senior couples in the middle of very sweaty sex after practice. Things he’d rather eradicate from his memories.

 

“Are you saying you _don’t_ find jump ropes to be still hot and kinky, Hiro?” Matsukawa sounded offended, and Hanamaki placed a kiss on his boyfriend’s jawline.

 

“‘Course not, Issei, anything’s hot and kinky when it’s with you, whether that’s jump ropes or Oikawa’s alien figurines –“ Kunimi frowned at the mental image – “But Kunimi, did you happen to see Kindaichi anywhere?”

 

His breath caught in his throat, as Kunimi’s eyes hardened. Agitation was piling within his guts, as _his_ name was continuously brought upon as if Kunimi was supposed to know of his whereabouts as if that was just the norm – it _wasn’t_ – and frankly, it was just annoying. But he put these emotions aside, and impassively answered, “No.”

 

“Oh, alright. See you around then.”

 

Once again, Kunimi did not mention his farewells or gestured in any way.

 

The ache in his chest had gotten worse, and stressing memories kept reappearing and disrupted his placid mind. It was because everyone kept mentioning _his_ name, the one he’d rather dispose of in the furthest corner of his daily life. But he didn’t allow this show outwardly – he kept it within his sanity, where it could be neatly contained and sealed away.

 

His fingers twitched in his pockets, and a tiny crease formed between his brows, as he chewed on the bulky skin of his cracked lip. He needed quiet. This environment, this population, this concentrated noise was further rendering his thought process and temperate state, and he could feel his sense of control slithering away from his grasp.

 

Briskly stepping through the taller grass, he sought for the least densely occupied region of the campus, prying through his antiquated familiarity of the school, and locations he had memorized in the past for convenience, so he could take a breather. _The top floor._ Realization dawned on him, as his eyes widened a little in relief, his fingers untwisting around the cotton cloth of his dress pants.

 

He hurriedly made his way up the staircase, the emptiness of the school putting his mind at ease already. His hands clutched the wooden bars to the top floor as he reached the doors, and flung them open, a gush of the hot summer wind hitting his face.

 

He wasn’t greeted with vacancy, but a still occupant.

 

His shortly trimmed blonde hair tickled the top of his neck, and he was wearing an ocean blue button-down, with black pleated pants, his matching black blazer limply hanging on his right shoulder, the sleeves slightly afloat with the breeze. His eyes were closed beneath the rectangular frame of his spectacles, and his expensive, velvet red Bose headphones covered his ears. He was leaning on the metal guard wall that surrounded the sides, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

While he did allow himself to admire the handsome man in front of him, Kunimi was more overwhelmed by the bothersome irk that ticked off inside him. His perfect resting area was now taken – and he’d have to venture for a new one inside the building.

 

Then the individual opened his eyes and stared off into the far distance for a millisecond until he transferred his vision to Kunimi. His face was just as expressionless as Kunimi’s until his mouth curved and he said, “Why, if it isn’t for the miserable elite.”

 

“Ah,” Kunimi recognized this wit, this tone. “The one that couldn’t receive the Best Middle Blocker award, was it?”

 

“What an honor to be remembered by the high and mighty regular of Seijoh.” His name was Tsukishima Kei, and they had graduated in the same year, with Kunimi retiring a few weeks earlier as Karasuno proceeded to the Nationals. “I’ll cherish this moment.”

 

“Please, save your sarcasm for more fitting individuals.” Although this wasn’t exactly the quiet he desired, it brought the same calming effect Kunimi needed. “I bet champions of the Nationals have more adequate people to waste their time on.”

 

“It doesn’t hurt to entertain those in the gutter every now and then.” Glancing at his phone, Tsukishima effortlessly returned. “Speaking of the gutter, did you come here to enjoy the fresh air of the pinnacle?”

 

Walking towards the fenced end, Kunimi exhaled a low breath. “I suppose so. And you? Abandoned by your closely knit flock?” He could see groups of people jumping up and down beside Oikawa and Iwaizumi in squirming hordes, including some from Karasuno – Nishinoya and Tanaka, if Kunimi remembered correctly.

 

A vexed crinkle fleetingly passed by on Tsukishima’s smooth features, as he readjusted the position of his headphones, wrapping them around his long neck. “There are people I’d prefer to avoid down there.” He grunted curtly, cranking his head to one side.

 

“Mm,” Dropping down to the tiled floor, which was quite warm due to the direct sunlight hovering over them, Kunimi proceeded to stretch his legs out forward as he sat. “I guess that’s two of us.”

 

An intrigued flash flickered over Tsukishima’s golden eyes, as he let his crossed arms loose. He slid down to the floor as well, still maintaining a fair share of meters between them – Kunimi appreciated the fact that he seemed to comprehend the concept of personal space. They stayed like that for at least half an hour, in absolutely concrete silence, neither of them bothering to spark a new conversation nor offer a friendly gesture for a new acquaintanceship. Instead, Tsukishima resumed to listening to his music with closed eyes, and Kunimi continued his observation of the people below. Although he wasn’t alone, the atmosphere was as comfortable and easily accommodated.

 

It was a refreshing sensation.

 

The sun had begun to set over his sitting figure when Tsukishima removed his Bose headphones and stood back up. Kunimi stripped his eyes away from the view and looked up at the blonde. He presumed the guy was leaving – of course; the celebration had nearly come to an end. According to the few phrases Kunimi could afford to hear, some members were planning to go to a club and continue partying there.

 

Tsukishima wordlessly opened the door and stuffed his other hand back into his pockets as he departed – until he suddenly became stationary midway, as his shoulders did a small shrugging motion. His head spun back where Kunimi was staring rather blankly, and muttered,

 

“For your failing memory, it’s Tsukishima Kei.” His voice still as monotonous as ever, the bespectacled man passed on a cursory glance.

 

Kunimi was about to reply that he had remembered, much to contrary belief, but instead answered back with,

 

“Kunimi Akira.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m so sorry, Kunimi-san, I’m such a nuisance, aren’t I? I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment, I just couldn’t think of an appropriate term for this particular scene, and the characters just seemed so impersonalized and unreadable, and- oh god, was I rambling again? We were talking about deadlines, weren’t we? I’m so sorry, Kunimi-san, I’m such a –“_

“Furukawa-sensei,” Softly interjecting the panicking female, Kunimi flipped the pages through his diary, jotting notes over the calendar. “I keep telling you, it’s a big deal that you’re breaking deadlines, but it’s not something we’re not used to.” _The printing will have more than a few complaints, but that’s not anything new._ “You only have a few pages remaining, so please just continue writing to the best of your abilities. I’ll see what I can tell the printing department.”

 

The author went abnormally mute over the connection, but Kunimi just waited for her.

 

_“Thank you, Kunimi-san. I’m indebted, as always.”_

“I’m your editor for a reason.” He put a neat ‘X’ mark over the red circle he had marked on the date and drew a star over another box for a separate day. With a final apology, the author hung up, and Kunimi put his phone down on his desk again. The end of the crunch period was near, and he’d finally be able to get some decent remedial time. He had unhealthy bags under his eyes and hadn’t eaten properly for days, grabbing stale bites of convenience store items.

 

He sighed aloud, rubbing his temples, and then called out, “Yamato-san, Furukawa-sensei is going to be behind schedule.”

 

“Is there a time when she fucking _isn’t_?” The printing director screeched, throwing her arms in the air as she marched out of the office, a hushed silence swooping over the room. Kunimi breathed through his nose, as he picked up his gray jacket and stole a glimpse of the analog clock that hung on the wall. It was almost 9 P.M. – he’d have to be back at work by six in the morning, and he had yet to have dinner. Terrific.

 

It was nighttime, but the blaring streetlights of Tokyo could’ve fooled him. Akira preferred his youth back in Miyagi, where there weren’t people constantly bumping into one another, with cars stampeding through the traffic with honking noises every three seconds.

 

His stomach rumbled quietly, as a minor reminder that typically humans had to eat to survive. _I’m running low on time and money._ His eyes habitually settled upon the illuminating ‘Family Mart: 24-Hours!’ sign and decided that it was his best and only option.

 

The plastic auto doors glided to sideways, as the chilled air of the store made his skin shiver a little. He mindlessly shuffled towards the instant ramen stall, where he contemplated whether to get one with pork broth or spicy seafood. It was a matter of which one contained more MSG than the other, really.

 

Just when he was about to reach for the spicy seafood cup, he heard a droning tone from the left – “Incredibly gourmet meal you’re having.”

 

Kunimi scowled at the quite superfluous commentary – it wasn’t like he was having a cheap, barely nutritious supper because he wanted to – and truthfully, the urge to just snap ‘you might as well fucking mind your own business’ crawled up his throat, out of stacked stress and fatigue – but those thoughts traveled down the drain as fast as it appeared, upon witnessing who it actually was.

 

Tsukishima Kei was standing there will a bottle of soda water in his hands, his identical red headphones around his neck, wearing a striped T-shirt and jeans.

 

“I’m quite aware of it, thank you.” Kunimi picked up the ramen bowl anyway, shifting his direction to the drinks corner. He took out a bottle honey lemon-flavored juice and then moved towards the cashier.

 

“Choices of food greatly affect the human lifespan, Kunimi-san.” Tsukishima paid for his soda water as well, “Seems like you aren’t aware of the critical information.”

 

“Maybe I don’t want to live that long, barely mobile on a hospital bed.” Kunimi squinted his eyes at his nearly void wallet. His mind headed towards the electric bill, his rent, and finally his bank account. “And drop the honorifics.”

 

“Antidepressants can be costly, Kunimi.” Smirked Tsukishima, as the black-haired man resisted a meaningful glare. He couldn’t grant him with such satisfaction. The taller one’s sneer drooped a little, as his golden gaze darted to the ramen bowl Kunimi was holding, now on his way to fill it with hot water. “Is that seriously what you’re having for dinner?”

 

Pinching at the pointed edge of the paper lid with his fingers, Kunimi snorted. “No, it’s the appetizer.”

 

“Huh,” As he twisted the sealed cap of his bottled drink, Tsukishima inquired, “Do you like curry?”

 

Kunimi pressed his lips into a thin line. “As much as any average Japanese person would, I suppose.”

 

“Well, I’m going to eat curry. So you can tag along if you’d like.” Kunimi’s eyelids fluttered at the invitation.

 

“I didn’t judge you as the type to treat people to meals.” He noted, the tip of his thumb fondling with the leather of his wallet. Tsukishima huffed from his nostrils, as his slim lips curved in a lop-sided manner.

 

“I’m not. You’ll owe me twice the amount of whatever you’re eating.”

 

 _As if I’d accept an offer like that,_ was what instantaneously popped up in Kunimi’s head, combined with the alternative meal he had in his hand – but for some reason, he didn’t exactly feel averse to the invitation either. “It better be good curry.” He grumbled, throwing the cup ramen back into his plastic bag, as he followed Tsukishima out of the convenience store.

 

They exchanged less than four sentences on their 10-minute walk to the restaurant, which was located at the dead end of an incredibly dark alley. All four sentences were jeering remarks at one another.

 

“I never knew you lacked the ability to transfer to a different workplace that doesn’t abuse their employees.” The blonde lied back on his chair, a straw resting on his bottom lip as he refilled the cup with green tea. “Either that or you’re a workaholic – but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

 

“We have fluctuating working hours.” _But a motionless salary,_ Kunimi thought to himself. “Your job doesn’t seem any better if you haven’t had dinner yet.”

 

“We just finalized our most recent project. I should practically have two weeks off after today.”

 

“Well,” The waitress served his order of chicken curry. “We’re almost done too. This week was the peak.”

 

“Heh,” Tsukishima ate a spoonful of his beef curry. “What are you anyway? An accountant?”

 

Kunimi actually exerted the effort to roll his eyes. “Close enough. An editor for modern Japanese literature, at Onoda Publishing.”

 

“Depressing.”

 

“Quite.” Kunimi actually felt pretty content about his current occupation, only if he hadn’t needed to constantly deal with the hysterics of the hypersensitive authors – but that had never evolved into a derogatory factor. “And you?”

 

Tsukishima took a while to swallow and chew, but murmured, “A game programmer. I work with Kenma, if you know him.”

 

“I don’t.” With a brief rejoinder, Akira continued, “I vaguely recall him from the Nationals, though. Kozume-san, was it?”

 

“Him.” Tsukishima affirmed, as he pushed in the last bits of the curry sauce into his mouth, scratching at the plate with his utensils. “Quite frankly, it’s a pain to work with someone you used to know in high school.”

 

A certain spiky-haired boy reappeared in Kunimi’s head, at the mention of ‘someone’ and ‘high school’. His relaxed grip around his fork became rigid, and the tinge of spice on his tongue left a rancor aftertaste, replaced by the metallic flavor where he had subconsciously bitten down on the tender insides of his cheek. Finally, he managed, “Really.”

 

Tsukishima seemed to have perceived the notion that something was off. He gave Kunimi a hard stare, and then lowered his eyes as he fumbled for a cigarette in his pocket.

 

“You smoke?” His dark brown eyes landing on Tsukishima’s slender fingers as he lighted the tip, Kunimi asked.

 

“Why,” A puff of smoke escaping the corners of his mouth as he opened it, the Tsukishima frowned. “Do I not seem to fit your categorical judgment again?”

 

Kunimi shrugged at that. “Not really. It just seemed like a fitting question to ask.” And it was true. It just seemed like the fitting question to ask, because-

 

_“You shouldn’t smoke, Kunimi, it’s unhealthy for you.”_

Snapping his jaw, Akira’s nails dug into his gray suit pants. He was definitely stressed, and when he was stressed, he had the tendency to allow his mind to travel back to unpleasant times. A detestable habit.

 

Tsukishima wordlessly extended the half-empty box of Mevius cigarettes, with an unchanging expression. Kunimi shook his head and added, “I quit.”

 

So the former shoved the box back into his pocket and finally rose from his seat. “You owe me 1400 yen.”

 

 _This bastard._ Kunimi sighed, and took out his phone. “Give me your number.”

 

“Smooth.” Tsukishima said mockingly, but pulled his phone out nonetheless. He read aloud the digits one by one, and the raven attempted a test call – in which the classic Samsung ringtone erupted throughout the restaurant, drawing a few irritated glimpses in their direction. “Is this your way of getting revenge for being indebted to me? Public shaming? Because that’s pretty childish.” Narrowing his pointed eyes at Kunimi, Tsukishima turned his phone off and practically tossed it into the corner of his bag.

 

A victorious smile spreading across his bland face, Kunimi worded, “Perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

They just met every now and then, once a week at most. Majority of those occasions were for no specific cause – it was simply because it sounded like a good way to split the cost. They’d converse about the hectic work schedule, insert a few sneering jabs after the previous one, and then the remainder of the hour was spent in silence.

 

It wasn’t awkward or anything – it wasn’t awkward since the very beginning. Tsukishima and Kunimi shared a mutual understanding of each other’s nature, and prioritized their own personal moments to process and contemplate over certain topics, and knew what was better not said between the temporary discomforts that would exist when certain phrases were mentioned. Tsukishima had such periods as well, where Kunimi would mindlessly decide to touch upon a certain issue, and he’d generally frown, or the minutest wrinkle would form on the bridge of his nose. Kunimi concluded that just as how Tsukishima respected Kunimi’s scowls, he ought to return that favor.

 

As summer transitioned to autumn, Kunimi couldn’t help but realize a transformation of dynamics.

 

It wasn’t like the fundamental basics of their relationship had morphed significantly. They still jabbed and jeered and one another, given the appropriate opportunities, and their topics weren’t ever that intriguing. Nothing ever got to a deep, personal level – in fact, they both desperately tried to talk about anything but personal. They just both wanted that kind of shallow social relationship.

 

What changed, however, was Kunimi.

 

He’d recognize the fact that the rectangular frames of Tsukishima’s spectacles have changed into squarer ones, the top slightly rounded. His hair would be fuzzier some days, his jawline angular and easily noticeable under the sunlight, and his ominous golden orbs shining for a nanosecond when he laid his sight upon something that grabbed his attention. As Kunimi was an observant individual, he’d recognize these points naturally.

 

And to be honest, that was quite a troublesome dilemma – because although Kunimi was indeed, very perceptive and attentive, that was limited to things he was very interested in.

 

Which could only mean, that he was very interested in Tsukishima Kei.

 

 _This is the worst._ Sweeping his divided bangs to the side, Kunimi squeezed his eyes shut as he sat facedown on the desk. After breaking up with Kindaichi in his junior year of university, which was now two years ago, Kunimi had never been romantically attracted to anyone. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that he just _couldn’t_ be romantically attracted to anyone.

 

_“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Akira.”_

Kindaichi Yutaro had never been his type. He was rambunctious and lurid, and could be quite dense and ostentatious. Far from Kunimi’s ideal boyfriend, actually.

 

It was only normal that Kindaichi and Kunimi couldn’t match.

 

But even so, he hoped-

 

His phone rang.

 

“Hello?”

 

_“Are you free tonight?”_

He didn’t need to bother to question who it was – Tsukishima’s ever-monotonous voice would be identifiable from miles away. “I am.” His crunch didn’t commence till next Monday, so he still had his leisure hours. “Are you heading out for dinner?” Kunimi began to pack his belongings, as he placed his phone between his shoulder and his ear.

 

_“I’ll be eating ramen. I was wondering if you wanted to tag along.”_

“Ramen sounds tolerable.” He was actually starving, as he had skipped lunch to finish work early. “Where is it?”

 

_“I’m in front of the main building of Onoda Publishing.”_

Kunimi froze for about 4 seconds and mustered all his unemotional strength to speak with calm. “What?” His voice came out as a squeak, much to his efforts, which garnered numerous startled emergent heads from the divided areas of other desks in the room. He shot a ‘none-of-you-heard-that’ glare at his coworkers, and stomped out.

 

 _“You heard me the first time.”_ He could literally see the confident snigger of Tsukishima at the end of the line, and clicked his tongue. _“Weak against surprises, Elite?”_

“Tsukishima Kei, I _will_ slap your face into a sewer one day.”

 

_“I’m flattered to hear that you enjoy my humor.”_

He jammed his middle finger into the ‘down’ button of the elevator, as the red light dinged, the double doors sliding, excruciatingly slow. The connection buzzed off as the doors shut, and Kunimi growled, shooting a look at Tsukishima’s number that blinked on his screen. When the doors slid back open, he saw the blonde leaning on the glass walls of the building, his back facing Kunimi. He must’ve felt a sort of vehemence piercing through, as he glanced in his direction – then smirked.

 

_This bastard._

“Hey, Elite.” With his usual sly grin, Tsukishima retracted his back from the surface, and pulled his hands out from his pockets. His striped T-shirt was finely ironed, and his torn jeans hugged his slim and long legs. Honestly, Kunimi wasn’t entirely sure why this guy didn’t have girls fawning over him the whole time.

 

“Don’t call me that.” _This ramen better be worth this torture._ “I’ll leave you behind.”

 

“Good luck, with those petite legs.”

 

That pulled a dangerous string in Akira’s sanity, but he managed to soothe it down. “Don’t treat me like Karasuno’s number 10.”

 

“Huh. Short people all look the same to me.” They commenced with a regular pace, the streets milling with businessmen and teenage couples. Tsukishima led the way, and Kunimi merely followed, and both were enwrapped in commotion and quiet simultaneously, once again.

 

 _Interested in him, eh._ He licked the sharp point of his fangs, as they waited for the streetlights to change. The programmer’s hand was still slick and thin, shimmering pale under the blaring lights of the city, almost glowing. Kunimi’s eye trailed upward, as he gazed at the latter’s face for a brief second. No matter how many times he observed Tsukishima, his appearance seemed flawless. Handsome was the way one would put it. He wasn’t wild or adorable, but cold and down-to-earth, with refined intellect.

 

Right, no matter how much he pondered, Kei was so different, compared to Yutaro –

 

He felt a passerby’s arm bump into his elbow, the streetlight changing to green as people motioned forward, cars coming to a halt in the corner of his blurring vision.

 

_Yutaro._

_“Akira, I love you.”_

_“Whatever.”_

His nails dug into his shirt, as he grasped his chest and heaved strained breaths. This is why he abhorred thinking about being _attracted,_ or _interested,_ like _being in love_ –

 

“Kunimi?” A voice brought him back to reality, as Kunimi’s quivering orbs met Tsukishima’s narrowed golden. The bespectacled man opened his mouth, and closed it again. The signal was red again, and they were the only ones that haven’t crossed.

 

“… Sorry.” His apology came out as pained exhales, trickling with shame. He tried to let it not show on his face, but he had no idea whether he was succeeding or not. “I was…” An excuse – he needed an excuse. But his mind was so preoccupied with Kindaichi, that even that mere task became a definite impossibility. Helpless. He felt so helpless.

 

But Tsukishima simply averted his gaze and shrugged. “The ramen place doesn’t close until 2 in the morning. We’re not late or anything.”

 

Of course, that’s not what Kunimi meant – and they were both more than well aware of that fact. However, this was just Tsukishima’s act of consideration, and Kunimi took it thankfully.

 

They crossed the following time and headed towards the secluded diner. The strong smell of pork broth with a whiff of seafood surrounded the two, as they sat down at a corner table, as they always did.

 

“What’s your order, sirs?” A good-natured old man put his hands on his rounded hips, his white shirt stained with brown soup and oil blotches.

 

There was only one choice of ramen Kunimi ate, so he said without hesitation,

 

“ _Shio_ (salt) ramen.”

 

Then he blinked, and snapped his face in Tsukishima’s direction, that was giving off the identical blank expression. The old man yelled “Coming right up!” and rushed to the open kitchen, and prepared the noodles and complementing toppings.

 

“I judged you more as a _shoyu_ type.” Said Akira, picking up his glass of water.

 

“I only order shio.” Tsukishima grunted, “I was certain you’d order miso.”

 

“Miso is alright, but shio is better.”

 

“The best, you mean.”

 

It felt mysteriously satisfying to be unanimous about a certain topic with Tsukishima. People could judge them alike, but they knew how different they could be. If Kunimi was lazy, then Tsukishima was simply unmotivated. There was a firm boundary between those two.

 

Of course, they had much in common. Cynicism, sarcasm, mockery – and the fact that they minded their own business. Kunimi was rather fond of the last point.

 

Just when the silence began to seep in, the dazing comfort settling down on the easy atmosphere of the diner, the _nori_ of the shop flapped abruptly, a hand punctured through flippantly, with an exasperated growl and whine echoing through. Kunimi’s frown deepened, and Tsukishima crinkled his nose a little before turning his attention to their new intruder.

 

“It’s _all_ Iwa-chan’s fault that we’re eating this late!”

 

“Well, maybe if you could fucking get your ass off that doll-picking arcade, we could’ve had dinner like planned an hour ago, Shittykawa.”

 

“You should’ve _stopped_ me! Like a nice husband!”

 

“No, that’s when I savor my share of your stupidity.”

 

“Okay, where can I get a divorce?”

 

Kunimi and Tsukishima simultaneously blinked once, and then snapped their heads at the two bickering males, one seemingly more upset than the other. Oikawa and Iwaizumi plopped down on a large rectangular table right next to them, as the former shot a pouty look at his so-called ‘mean husband’. Akira couldn’t stop himself from staring at the pair – he could only dread his luck for not declining Tsukishima’s invitation.

 

“ _Oji-san,_ I want a tonkotsu!”

 

“Shoyu for me.”

 

“Ew, shoyu sucks. I always wondered why such a burly man as Iwa-chan wouldn’t go for something for manly, like-“ As Oikawa rolled his eyes sideways, his eyes met Kunimi’s, and glued on. “Oh my, it’s Kunimi-chan.” Then his chocolate gaze trotted to the left, “And Glasses-kun.”

 

Iwaizumi seemed bewildered for a few seconds until he finally realized the presence of the two. “Oh, Kunimi. And… Karasuno’s number 11. It’s been a while.”

 

“Good… evening, Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san.” Kunimi tried not to sputter for what seemed like the umpteenth time of the day. Fuck Tsukishima.

 

“An honor that you’d remember me, Great King- I mean, Oikawa-san. Iwaizumi-san, too.” Snapping the attached wooden chopsticks into two, Tsukishima nodded his head.

 

Oikawa took no notice of his alias, and chirped, “So, what brings you two here? Never knew you two were a thing.”

 

“We’re not.” “Please, Oikawa-san.”

 

“Strong reactions aren’t the slightest bit persuasive.” Snorting as he sipped his beer, Oikawa slumped back on the wall on his cushioned seat. “Well, actually. I forgot – weren’t you and Kindaichi an item in high school? I heard the rumors after we graduated. Not like I knew before you decided to announce it, but you know.” Flickering his lashes towards Kunimi, Oikawa questioned with a hint of curiosity. But there was something definitely ominous behind that look – Kunimi decided not to think about it.

 

“We,” Kunimi split his own chopsticks, as the owner roughly placed a bowl of steaming hot shio ramen in front of him. “Broke up.”

 

The words came out more fluidly than he imagined, as if he regarded the event as nothing. It was like the movement of the noodles as they slipped between his lips – flowing, unstopping. It could’ve been anything – ‘Oh, I got fired’, or ‘My parents died’. That was just how monotonous it was, and it would’ve had the same effect.

 

A violent rattle and racking of the table ruptured the silence, as Iwaizumi stepped on Oikawa’s foot. Oikawa yelped in pain and glared at his husband. Kunimi didn’t say anything.

 

“Sorry, Kunimi.” Iwaizumi grunted. “That was insensitive of him.”

 

“It’s fine.” He wasn’t certain if he was. But there was no throbbing in his heart, no emptiness in his gut, or trapped breathing. In fact, he felt perfectly normal. His fingers felt languid as they shifted each time to reach for more noodles in the bowl, his tongue scorching hot as he hadn’t bothered to cool the heat off the soup. His eyelids felt heavy for no particular reason – it had to be warmness. Warm things made him feel sleepy.

 

The rest of the meal progressed with brief exchanges of unimportant details, such as their current workplace or how the job itself was. Oikawa became drunk at some point, and Iwaizumi had to cover up for all the inappropriate things he screeched about their sex life. Kunimi didn’t bother to speak up very much, and only intercepted a few ridiculous comments that blubbered from Oikawa. Tsukishima was the one who carried out most of their part for the responses, despite the majority of it being sarcastic.

 

“Then, we’ll be heading back,” Tsukishima said as he paid for the meal, as Iwaizumi, being the sober one of the pair, nodded apologetically.

 

“Sorry that you had to deal with his nonsense as well. Have a nice rest of your day – you too, Kunimi.”

 

“Right. You too, Iwaizumi-san.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

With that, they exited the diner, stepping out into the cool outdoor air, a starless night sky lit with streetlights instead. Tsukishima swerved to the right, and after inhaling a calming breath, Kunimi followed his tracks.

 

Of course, their journey was wordless. It was the usual nothing, just a meal and no other. Perhaps, disappointment could be the suitable expression – but even if that were true, what was the point? It’s not like they were going to be in a relationship, and furthermore, Kunimi wanted to savor this connection. He desired the consistency of this quietness. It felt natural – not like home, not like anywhere – it was nothing but quiet, that’s what it was.

 

 _That’s what it is._ Repeating the thought in his head, Kunimi stared at Tsukishima’s broad back from a fair distance. His blonde hair had grown out a little since they had previously met, and his shoulders were slightly slouched.

 

_A relationship._

“You know, Kunimi-san.” Tsukishima suddenly paused, his bright shade of hair nearly white under the lamppost. “You’re irritated, aren’t you?”

 

 _Blink._ “… Where’s this coming from?”

 

“From everything both you and I are aware of.” There was no break between his words, as the taller man now outwardly faced Kunimi. “Unless I misjudged you this whole time.”

 

Honestly, he felt lost. “I have no idea what you’re trying to get to.” He felt lost, and he was irritated about _that._

 

“About Kindaichi-san, of course.” A minuscule smirk formed on that face, that usually placid, cold face. Something flared within Kunimi, and he had to burn all his patience to suppress it. “You’re irritated, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m not.” _If I seem like it, then it’s my loss._ “We broke up ages ago.”

 

A thin exhale escaping his mouth, Tsukishima ran a few frustrated fingers through his hair. His pale face was still wearing that smirk, that all-knowing smirk. “Then,” his golden sharpness pierced through the flames of Kunimi’s chest. “That’s even more pathetic. You’re still not over him?”

 

_Pathetic._

The term screamed in his ears, his brain, and overwhelmed his vision. He felt something long concealed snap open within, and his blank emotions pooled and swarmed with an indistinguishable feeling, attacking him in tsunami-like waves.

 

“Don’t fuck with me, Tsukishima Kei.” _Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic._ “Don’t speak as if you actually _know_ me. We ate a few meals together. We talked a little. We exchanged some damned fucking digits called ‘phone numbers’, and that’s all we are. You have absolutely _no_ right –“ It was a black night, but everything seemed white. The whiteness was blinding, and Kunimi was losing track of what he was spurting from his mouth. Anger overtook him, mixed with something even more bitter, more sour, more sore.

 

_Pathetic._

“Get lost.” Kunimi whispered under his breath, as he pushed his way past Tsukishima.

 

The blonde just stood there, where he just heeded the rampant tirade. He sighed heavily, his long fingers curling through his hair, facing downward as his brows furrowed.

 

Then he simply mumbled,

 

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

_God damn it._

38.7 degrees.

 

“ _Ughhhhhh.”_ He groaned through his pillow, a muffled noise rumbling through his hot room. Ever since that incident with Tsukishima, combined with the hectic crunch period, his condition worsened by days, until he finally drove himself into a feverish corner. There was no way he could go to work today – thankfully, he had finished editing most of the drafts yesterday, so there was not much to be done with the exception of notifying the printing department, but that still meant he’d have work to do when he returned.

 

Briefly calling in his boss and updating his absence, Kunimi shuffled lethargically across his living room, his head spinning as he grabbed the AC remote and weakly pressed the ‘on’ button. The cold air felt pleasing to his too warm skin, as he practically gave in to the sofa. _Medicine._ He clenched his eyes shut, and desperately clutched at the fabric of the couch, and managed to sit up and barely reach for the first aid kit he used to store his medicine and other supplies.

 

 _Out of all times, I just had to forget to restock._ That meant he’d have to go outside to actually purchase his usual cold medicine and pills, when just moving a finger felt like instantaneous apoptosis of five billion cells. The absolute fucking worst.

 

But as he had no particular alternative, he brushed his teeth and washed his face that was drenched in cold sweat, changing into the first T-shirt his hand contacted and some weird Addidas pants he had lying on the floor. A yawn tore through, as he rummaged through his bag to get his wallet and keys. His vision was literally swimming, and his clothes felt scratchy and foreign as if they were brand new. _What a terrific start of the day._

Just getting to the first floor of his apartment appeared to be a formidable challenge. When he noticed a sickly pale man staring back at him in the elevator, Kunimi realized that it was himself. A cough crept up his throat, and he cleared it with a hoarse voice, the interior of his neck feeling as if it had been ripped apart.

 

 _Out of all times, it just has to be autumn._ Miyagi’s autumns were cold, but Kunimi lately noticed that Tokyo’s fall was _freezing._ It could’ve been just where he lived, but as the relentless icy breeze hit his heated skin, Kunimi was seriously beginning to regret the fact that his mind wasn’t even straight enough to bring along a damned _jacket._

 

He growled as he moved through the crowded sidewalk, shivering as he wrapped his hands around his arms. His teeth chattered madly, and the cold sweat dotting his forehead wasn’t doing anything to alleviate the situation. The middle schooler girl that walked past him gave him a pitiful glance – and she vaguely heard something around ‘he must be jobless’.

 

 _I’m a fucking editor, I have a job, I have a house, and I just came to buy medicine. And why the hell is the signal so long?_ An aggravated train of thought rushed through his brain, as he shuddered a damp breath. The moment the highlighted red blinked to neon green, he briskly trudged past the milling people and practically threw himself into the warmth of the drugstore.

 

“Cold medicine please.” He groggily ordered as the lady nodded with a complacent smile. “Do you have pills for sore throats?”

 

“We do, indeed. That’d be a total of 1200 yen.”

 

His eyes were killing him, as he squinted to see if he was getting the correct notes. Once he could make out the numbers and bills, he handed it to the cashier, as they prepared his change. The lady with the nice smile was kindly explaining how many times he should consume the pills, sometime after meals and whatnot, but Kunimi felt too sick to even listen.

 

Mumbling a word of gratitude as he departed, the numb sensation of the weight of the plastic bag in his grasp felt nonexistent. It was getting harder to breathe, and his ribs felt as if they were contracting the movement of his lungs. His nose was completely shut out with mucus, and his throat just felt feverish and dry.

 

It took someone to tap him on the shoulder, to notify him that the signal had changed. “Hey, are you crossing?”

 

“… Oh.” A croak escaped his lips, as he attempted a thankful nod at whoever it was. He took a step forward towards the road, and could sense hordes of other groups rushing past him, chattering off delightedly. The cacophonous traffic noise felt like a spear piercing through his eardrums, but ever so distant at the same time. He never felt this sick since his second year of high school, when he caught the flu after he kissed Kindaichi.

 

 _Fuck._ He cursed himself for bringing back the memory.

 

_“Let’s break up.”_

_“… Why?”_

_“Because I don’t know what you’re thinking at all, Akira. Do you even love me?”_

_“After all this time, why do you think I stick around, Yutaro?”_

_“That’s just who you are. You never express, you never show emotion. Love doesn’t work that way.”_

_‘I assumed he’d understand. Understand, even if I didn’t express.’_

_But he really did love him._

_Instead, he choked back the excuses once more._

_“… Oh.”_

He wanted to vomit. The hurt expression of Kindaichi at Kunimi’s inexpressiveness, Kunimi’s disability to display affection, but the comical part was that Kunimi himself felt betrayed, felt rejected that Kindaichi had never informed him of this before –

 

Clutching the cloth of his soaked T-shirt, Kunimi tried to breathe.

 

He couldn’t.

 

_Fuck._

_Fuck it all._

Suddenly, he felt a hand snatch at his weak wrist, pulling at him harshly and hurriedly that he almost crumbled to the ground at the effect.

 

“What the _hell,_ ” A blur of blonde fuzzed within his vision, as said blonde shade spoke angrily, his voice raised and obviously stressed. “What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that when the lights were _red?_ ”

 

As the black dots gradually dissipated into nothing, Kunimi could finally distinguish the person that was scolding with an unusually admonishing tone. “… Tsukishima?”

 

Normally, if it were just like any other day they encountered, Tsukishima would’ve passed over this question with a snide remark. But instead, the latter just pursed his lips together, the skin near his mouth turning white from the pressure applied as if he was trying to pacify his burning irritation in some way. “Well, how nice that you can now _see,_ Kunimi-san.” The quavering grip was painfully tight, and even when Kunimi gently attempted to tug it out, Tsukishima wouldn’t let go.

 

“… Why are you here?” His words sounded broken, coming out dry and hoarse.

 

His glasses twitching, Tsukishima’s frown just deepened. “I was running an errand. We were short on overnight snacks for the office –“ He finally released his grip, “And then I just happened to spot you in the middle of the road, looking _stupid._ ”

 

Akira winced at the terminology. But as it technically couldn’t be so distant from the truth, he shrugged. “Thanks, I guess. It was –“ ‘Unnecessary’ was the first word that popped up, but Kunimi was certain that that wouldn’t bring about a positive reaction from Tsukishima. “… Never mind.”

 

The programmer looked beyond dissatisfied – but that was honestly just the aura he had around him; Kunimi’s eyesight at this point was just a blob of colors and tints.

 

“… Where do you live?” Tsukishima’s hand was back on his shoulder, this time in a lot more tentative manner. “Hey, don’t fall asleep. It’s a pain.”

 

“The white condo just ahead.” He wasn’t falling asleep or anything – he just felt terribly drowsy, and every time he opened his mouth, energy seeped out of his legs.

 

Grunting, the raven’s arm lifelessly hung around the taller man’s shoulder, as Tsukishima crouched down to match Kunimi’s height. “At least walk properly. This posture looks hideous as is.”

 

 _Then maybe you could leave me alone,_ was what he would’ve shot back, if he had the stamina to do so. Instead, Kunimi took an agonizing step forward; dragging his body to whatever direction the other was pulling him to. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he preferred this to any piggyback rides or bridal-style carrying. He was just glad that he and Tsukishima shared similar points – especially when it came to embarrassing things.

 

He wasn’t sure when they had boarded the elevator, but after a few minutes of the exhilarating trip, Tsukishima nudged him and muttered something that sounded like ‘keys’. Kunimi managed to pass on the jiggling metal pieces to the blonde, as a ‘click’ echoed.

 

His burning skin soon met his cotton futon, and Kunimi finally garnered the strength to open his eyes. The cool atmosphere of his room had somewhat sharpened his vision, although his headache was still screaming for attention and massive care.

 

“For Pete’s sake, take your meds if you bought them.” A chilled surface caressed his cheek, as Kunimi lifted his eyelids again. Tsukishima had a warm glass of tea on Kunimi’s left cheek, holding a plastic portion of his pills. “I’ll suggest you eat something beforehand, but your fridge is literally the most vacant thing I’ve seen after Hinata’s brain. Finish the tea and take those pills and go back to sleep – I’ll be borrowing your keys.”

 

And with that, before Kunimi could question any of these queer actions, Tsukishima shut the door behind him and departed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“… ey.”

 

“… Hey.”

 

“Hey, _Kunimi_ -san.”

 

 _Mmn._ Rolling to the side, the black-haired man buried his face in the cushions. He didn’t want to wake up – in fact, he refused to do anything but wake up.

 

The voice seemed to have gone silent after their persistent trials, and Kunimi’s shoulders eased at the realization. Finally, some adequate peace in his –

 

“I _will_ contact all your former Seijoh teammates and tell them that you’re about to die, no joke. Including your ex-boyfriend.”

 

 _What the fuck._ “Okay, what the fuck.” Slapping his hand to push himself upward, Kunimi snapped his head at the threat, only to find himself glaring at one very stoic-looking Tsukishima Kei. “Tsukishima, don’t you dare.”

 

“I actually took care of you for exactly 8 hours today, and the phrase of gratitude is ‘what the fuck’. I’m impressed at your respectable manners.” He sets down a tray balancing a bowl of hot soup and warm ginger tea. The spicy, pungent smell emptied his blockaded nose, as Tsukishima folded his arms and gave him a quite contradictory expression of ‘impressed’.

 

But besides that, Kunimi decided to focus on the more distinct points of his commentary. _Took care of you. For 8 hours._ He stares at the analogous clock sitting next to his bed. It’s 10. “Shit.” He murmurs, his hands immediately flying to massage his temples. “… Sorry. That was unnecessary.”

 

“Of course it was.” Tsukishima shoved the tray closer to Kunimi. “But it was voluntary.”

 

A question crept up his throat, but his ravenous hunger overwhelmed him as he sniffed the soup. The taste was savory and slightly sour – it was a mixture of tomato and something else. “This is nice.” Genuinely complimenting the food, Kunimi turned to the latter. “You made this?”

 

“What do you think?” Tsukishima rolled his eyes, until he paused and averted his gaze. “Well, I made it. But I called Sugawara-san for the recipe.”

 

 _Sugawara… ah, the so-called Mr. Refreshing Oikawa-san would often refer to._ “Thanks.”

 

“You should be.” And then quiet hung in the air, as Kunimi ate. He sipped at the gingery tea and gulped the pills, a sigh of pleasure evading his system as he finished. It felt comfy and somewhat relaxing, as he sat in his bed like this and consumed an actual homemade meal. It had been a long time since someone took care of him while he was ill – the last time being in high school, when his mom would frantically shove random drinks into his face, as she panicked and searched for remedial recipes that could help colds. He had thought of it as a pain of some sort then, but it was now quite nostalgic and endearing if he actually contemplated it.

 

He put his spoon down as it clanked against the glass of the bowl. Tsukishima eyed it for a while, and then moved the tray to the miniature table that was next to the bed.

 

“If you’re done, then I’ll take my leave. I had to call Kenma-san and cancel my work for today.”

 

“Huh.” Kunimi’s brows elevated at that. _Why would you go that far?_ Tsukishima had mentioned that it was voluntary – but he wasn’t that kind of person. And they still had their unresolved argument from weeks ago – it was somehow miraculous that they managed to converse this way up until now. “I guess I owe you.”

 

“You don’t.”

 

“… What?”

 

An irked exhale was heard. “I said, you don’t owe me anything. I owed you an apology for what happened last time. Just think of it as a reparation of sorts.”

 

 _An apology._ It wasn’t a word that suited Tsukishima’s image. “What you did for me today was overstepping the boundaries of an apology – you know that, right?”

 

Kei slowly rotated his gaze towards Kunimi, who was giving him a doubtful stare. “I do.” The response was terse, yet seemed dreadfully long.

 

“Then, I do owe –“

 

“When I say it’s _voluntary_ , Kunimi,” The honorifics had been removed. “I mean it. I wanted to do it, so I did it. It’s a simple equation.”

 

“Yeah, but why would you –“ _You don’t need to care. That’s the kind of relationship we have. It’s a give and take. It’s a fair deal. We repay the debts – that’s literally how this began._

 

“Because.” Tsukishima’s expression faltered very slightly – the change was so minuscule, barely noticeable – but as a person with a few alterations in expression as well, Kunimi was able to catch that. “This relationship was never fair in the first place.”

 

Everything seemed to freeze into the vicinity.

 

His head wasn’t catching up with what Tsukishima was implying. The blonde stared back, hard, for a very long time – what could’ve been an elongated eternity – but then moved, and moved out of Kunimi’s room, just like that, leaving no further explanation.

 

The dull ache in his chest that had always been there plunged. Kunimi had always dismissed it as stress, as exhaustion, as the effect of the cold – for the past few months. Romance was a cynical joke. He couldn’t properly love anyone. He couldn’t love because he couldn’t express. He didn’t deserve to love, is the conclusion he settled upon, after all these years. But as the ache grew, vines twisting and trapping his body and breath, his head swarmed with Tsukishima and his golden everything, Kunimi couldn’t resist the recognition of the newfound storm –

 

_I’m in love._

He grasped the edge of his mattress and sprang towards the door, stumbling to the elevator out his house and panting, not checking whether he was wearing the same pair of shoes or even bringing his keys along – it was superfluous, compared to what he had to do.

 

_Stop._

_Stop._

_Stop._

Fifth floor. Fourth. Third.

 

_It’s not worth it._

_I’m not worth it._

Second, first –

 

_“I don’t know what you’re thinking.”_

_Because love is somehow all about the communication. The expression. Through words, through actions._

“Tsuki –“ He bellowed, his scratchy voice ripping through the night air. He coughed, a throbbing sensation crawling through his veins, as blood rushed to his face. Tsukishima had stopped walking, and turned around, his face still has stony as ever, unchanging, voicing volumes Kunimi couldn’t hear, sending messages Kunimi couldn’t read.

 

_I’m a failure when it comes to loving someone;_

_That’s what I always believed._

Tsukishima’s narrow eyes were shining, a moon glowing amidst the golden shade. Tokyo’s night was pitch black, in comparison to Miyagi’s midnight that was dotted with stars. _The moon._ That was right – if Tokyo had the moon, then Tsukishima seemed to have the night sky in his eyes. A starry night, accompanied with the beauty of the moon.

 

For the first time, Kunimi might’ve actually thought something – someone, was beautiful.

 

“Kei.”

 

The name trembled as it rolled off his tongue, the flowing syllable cascading through the night, swiftly traveling into the dark. Tsukishima stood there, his eyes widening by a millimeter, as his hands clenched at his sides. A negigible change – but still noticeable.

 

“I was- I’ve always been bad at expressing my emotions.” _And that probably won’t transform into something else._ “And even now, I’m probably not going to be able to communicate this clearly.”

 

He wondered what he looked like, to Kei. Kindaichi had always complained about Kunimi appearing to be the same, no matter where they were, no matter what they were doing. He wondered if that fact still applied right now – when Kunimi felt so hot, so nervous, so anxious.

 

“You’re right. This relationship was never fair.” He continued. “But I want that. I think I always have.”

 

Tsukishima approached him, and said, “So what do you want me to say?”

 

Kunimi pursed his lips together, and then asked, “What do I look like right now?”

 

Kei didn’t say anything. He just scrutinized Kunimi, just like when they had first met. Then the curvature of his mouth lifted to the corner, as he leaned down and whispered,

 

“Like a mystery.”

 

And their lips met.

 

It wasn’t drawn out, it was nothing close to passionate, but Kunimi felt as if there was plenty conveyed. Too much to be expressed with words – too much that _couldn’t_ be expressed with actions.

 

“A mystery,” Kunimi repeated. “Is that a good thing?”

 

“I enjoy a good mystery.” Tsukishima smirked – “Isn’t that all that matters?”

 

Something tugged at Akira’s lips too, as he heard that.

 

“I suppose you’re right.”

 

Tsukishima Kei is a starry night, and Kunimi Akira is a mystery.

 

Together, it felt quite perfect – and really, that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> REQUESTS:
> 
> -I don't write explicit sex, but if you want non-con involved it will always be implicit.  
> -I'd prefer if no characters actually die. 
> 
> Other than that, go crazy, guys!


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